


Always the quiet nights

by ShadeDuelist



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeDuelist/pseuds/ShadeDuelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(the fact that Pyro is a woman here does not mean anything.  Just sayin')</p><p>Pyro promised Engineer she'd go up to his workshop to keep him company as he finetuned his machines, but she got preoccupied.  And when he gets tired of waiting for her, he goes to her, and... surprises her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always the quiet nights

Pyro wasn’t a woman of many words in person.  The person beneath the gas mask, scarred emotionally more than physically, was an introvert, a dreamer and not a doer.  But what she lacked in interpersonal interaction, she made up for in her outlets.  She found her joy and relief in drawing and painting and turning grim truths as well as seemingly meaningless nothings to beautiful poetry.  Shakespearian verse, to be more specific, carried her preference, and it was that which she was committing to paper now with secure flourishes of the pen held in scarred hands.  Thoughts, ghosts of the face of the man she loved, spurred her on and ink flowed freely as she committed a fire much more consuming than her flamethrower’s burning gasoline to the paper.

 

_The blood-red dawn brought out a fairer light_

_in his cold eyes; and as the climbing sun_

_so did our comrades rise to blindly fight_

_and into red blazing oblivion run._

_The cool reason of his healing machine_

_in stark contrast with his fine, sun-kissed skin_

_and as he smiles, to none but me are seen_

_the burning blue flames that he hides within._

_I promise you my blaze will never end,_

_I promise all my fire is yours to keep,_

_ember or inferno at your command._

_I willingly my heart to you do send,_

_its love aflame, unfailing, yours to reap,_

_and never straying from your calloused hand._

Sighing, she re-read the poem she’d just written, and shook her head.  Maybe she was a woman of few words in person, but in her writing, the words had to be just right.  His eyes weren’t cold as much as cool, she mused, scratching idly through the offending word.  Even ‘cool’ seemed too weak a term, as they were the shade of blue of a crisp winter morning’s air, the shade of blue she’d seen in pictures of the world’s most beautiful lakes.  A shade of blue that not even nature could perfectly replicate again.  He was perfection from his perfect head to his steel-toed boots, and she… she was squat, and pudgy, and scarred, and… _“Agh…”_ , she sighed out, scratching out the word that had first offended her more vigorously and then starting to copy the poem to a clean sheet of paper with less secure and less flourishing penstrokes.  Her heart felt heavy as she contemplated just how perfect her partner was and just how _imperfect she_ was: it was disconcerting at times.  Even _Scout_ and _Soldier_ , who were perfectly happy with their respective ladyfriends Miss Pauling and Zhanna, sometimes looked at the man and clearly despaired.  She’d just copied the penultimate line when a sound behind her made her look up to see him enter, hair slightly dishevelled and goggles perched up on his head.

“Engie, sweet’eart?”, she said, to which he answered with a sigh.

“Ah were jus’ hungry, came down to grab a bite t’eat, don’t yeh mind me none, sugar.”  He wandered to the kitchen, to raid their fridge, and suddenly she felt a little self-conscious about not having fulfilled her promise to come and sit with him in his upstairs workshop to give her flamethrower a much-needed overhaul while he worked on his machinery.

“...I… was almost done ‘ere, and I was going to join you upstairs, sweet’eart!”, she said with excessive cheer, quickly getting up from the sofa she’d burrowed herself into and skipping into the kitchen.  Her medication made everything _feel_ excessive, at any rate: whether she really skipped or not was a mystery to her.  The engineer closed their fridge, a chicken wing in his good hand and a nice smear of grease already on his lips, which he smacked softly.

“Mm, ‘s all good, dahlin’... ah know yeh git real partic’lar about that writin’’a yers, yeh don’t gotta stop fer me none… ‘m jus’ happy tuh git a kiss…”, he said, and she smiled, winking at him.

“Finish that chicken wing first and wipe your mouth, cold chicken grease is gross, sweet’eart.  I’m just finishin’ up this poem, okay?”, the pyro said, walking back to the sofa she’d just vacated and glancing down at the paper and the writing pad she’d given up in favor of her southern heartthrob.  The last sentence was finished in a more subdued writing, neat and loopy, the sight of the finished poem making her smile away the seconds until her engineer’s footsteps grew louder again and she put the pad onto the living room table as he motioned himself over with his mechanical hand.

“All clean, darlin’.”  She chuckled and nodded, not even needing his next prompt to rise from the sofa again: “Now, don’t all that hard work deserve a kiss?”

“Sure it does!”, she chirruped, leaning in closer to him and pressing her lips sweetly to his, still smelling and tasting the chicken on him but not the gross taste of the solidified fat that had pearled on the tasty treat, and she happily closed her eyes, relishing in the way his hands moved gently up her back to rest on her shoulders, slowly moving to the neckline of her suit.  She assumed that he’d toy with her curls a little, like he sometimes did when feeling in a particularly tender mood.

When he drew back from their kiss again and, in the same heartbeat, swiftly pulled the zipper of her suit down, she understood that ‘tender’ was definitely not the mood he was in.

“Sweet’eart?”, she said, and the way he looked her over made any remaining doubt in her mind flee to be replaced by something more eager and matched to his ardor in a matter of a heartbeat.

“Ah need it bad, sugar… need yeh so bad…”  He liberated her arms from the suit with the deliberate haste he only ever exhibited either on the battlefield or when impatient with her in the bedroom; then, as the suit slowly fell off her, his hands moved over her tee , down her back, his thumbs hooking under the elastic band of both her sport shorts and the plain cotton panties she wore underneath.  They were yanked down in one fell movement, making the fire that had been started in her heart blaze as if fuelled by pure gasoline, flashing through her body in a second and sending a healthy flush through all of her limbs like a precursor to the pleasure her engineer clearly intended to give her.

“Mmm, sweet’eart-”, she started, but he shook his head and motioned for the sofa.

“Ain’t got no patience fer bein’ sweet tuhday, sugar, _lay down_ , ‘m not gon’ wait fer nuthin’.”  He was commanding, and he was clearly intent on making it quick and fiery and _messy_ , causing her to shiver and comply while he unbuttoned his fly and pulled out his already erect length without bothering to remove any of his clothes.  If anything had made Pyro eager before, the fact that he didn’t even have the patience to remove _any_ clothing made her ready for him.  Pushing her clothing the remainder of the way off her, she lay back on the sofa, looking up at him expectantly; she didn’t need to wait long, because as soon as their eyes met, he covered her body with his, thrusting into her impatiently, and she moaned at the exact same time as he did.  “Awh, _sugarplum, Chriiiiist,_ y-yer so damn hawt for me…”  True to his lack of patience, his thrusts were rough and hard, the friction of his overalls against her completely exposed lower body maddening and making her yelp in pure fiery need.

“ _Sweet’eart, it’s so ‘ot when you just ‘a-’ave your way with me…_ ”, she stammered - his response was a grunt and a deeper thrust that got her to moan again and press her lips to his shoulder to muffle some expletives she spoke in her second language.  Her lover’s breath, coming in short gasps, brushed over her neck as he nuzzled it, then kissed it fiercely as ever before, parting his lips to give her a lovebite that’d be more than obvious even when she wore her suit. That, if nothing else, amazed her.  Engineer was always careful not to let anything betray just how passionate he could get with her - would he really throw all of that caution to the wind now, just because he was lust-crazed?  “N-no, don’t… the others’ll-”

“Them others… _ahhh…_ kin all… j-jus’ go t’hell… _awh ffffuuuuuck, sugarplum…”_ The Texan drew back a little more, groaning softly: Pyro intended to ask what he was doing, leaving the both of them unfinished, but then he pulled her legs up so her ankles rested on his shoulders and thrust back in, and she _howled_ due to the friction and the added depth that gave him.  His rhythm didn’t even falter: he still thrust hard and deep into her, grunting every so often from the clear tension he felt and was transmitting to her with each precision thrust.

 _“Lord almighty, sweet’eart…!_ ”, she stammered out heatedly, unable to do anything anymore with the way he pinned all of her body down underneath his own.  In the position she was in, she could barely get her fingertips on his arms, but she still had her _voice_ to spur him on and she was using it liberally. “Ahh sweet’eart, d-don’t stop… oh ‘arder, _‘arder_ , p-pleeeeaaaase… _oh yes, yessss, my engie… t-take me, sweet’eart…_ ”

“W-weren’t p-plannin’ on stoppin’...”, he ground out, putting his hands next to her head on either side - an action that also got her legs to tense just a little more to provide him a little more support as he pushed himself a little ways off her - in order to pick up the pace, losing some depth but making Pyro arch her back  and push back her hips right into his thrusts.  She could feel her engineer’s fire ignite her, consume her… and then, as he gasped out her name and shiveringly thrust in deep once more, she could feel his fire _obliterate_ her.  All of the tension she’d built up from the friction of his denim overalls on the sensitive skin of her lower body, all of the need his eagerness had inspired within her, it was like gunpowder and his release was the fuse that hit it and exploded her, propelling her right into the clouds.  When she became aware of herself and her lover again, he’d already let her legs back down and had gotten up from the sofa, looking her over a lot more tenderly than he had before.

“‘m sorry fer jus’-”

“Don’t be sorry, sweet’eart, you _must_ know I kind of like it like that… and I’m sorry for not ‘aving kept that promise… I’ll clean up a little and join you upstairs, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan tuh me, darlin’...”, he admitted, shaking his head softly as she got up.  “...Did ah hurt yeh?”  She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes: it wasn’t the first time he’d just yanked her legs over his shoulders like that, and she loved it when he did so, but it always made her calves a little sore from being overstretched and as a result she always wobbled a little when she got back on her feet.

“You ‘avent ‘urt me, sweet’eart - now shoo, to that workshop with you now, I’ll be there in a minute, love.  ‘Ave to take my poem upstairs with me, no?”

“Ah, someday, yeh’re gonna have a fine bundle’a poetry fer publishin’, sugar.”, he said, grinning and adjusting his overalls a little - despite how eager the both of them had been before, they still looked pristine.  She then spotted the kitchen towel that lay on the floor beside her underwear and her suit, which _didn’t_ look pristine anymore, and she chuckled as she put her clothes on again, not bothering to zip up the flameproof suit all the way anymore, the combined afterglow of her tryst with her lover and the rosy haze of medication making her feel content more than ever, and amused at the fact that Engie had just used a _kitchen towel_ for post-sex cleanup.  Just like her southern heartthrob to be practical like that - and just like him, too, to turn a quiet night into one she’d not forget for a long time yet.

 

_I don’t know how to tell you, my dear love_

_that all I long for is your fiery need_

_and that all that I ask of God above_

_is that you once more sweep me off my feet._

_I love your sweet embrace and your light kiss_

_and all the tender care that you do show;_

_but, by God, how too do I love that bliss_

_that only you and I will ever know!_

_Be tender or be rough, you may decide,_

_my body only flourishes with you,_

_my need and your need wrought from the same fire._

_Lovers from one another should not hide_

_whatever they should wish or want to do_

_under the wings of passion and desire._


End file.
